


Foul Whisperings

by flashofthefuse



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Year of Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 17:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12041148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashofthefuse/pseuds/flashofthefuse
Summary: Overheard gossip gives Phryne cause for concern.





	Foul Whisperings

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure where this fits into canon but I'm picturing it taking place between the end of S1 and the start of S2.

She burst through his office door like—well, like Phryne Fisher.

His constables didn’t even attempt to stop her anymore. That was his own fault. He never tossed her out and it had been months since he’d reprimanded any of them for their lack of gatekeeping where she was concerned. Intentionally or not, he’d sent a message and it had been received. In other words, he’d made his bed.

“Why on earth didn’t you tell me!” She complained.

She swept her hat from her head—tossing it on the desk as if it had somehow offended her—and then removed her gloves, one crisply revealed finger at a time.

All of this he witnessed from the corner of his eye, never lifting his head from the report in front of him. There was no point in asking what had lit the fire under her this time, she’d tell him whether he wanted to know or not. And, for the record, he did not. Not today. He needed to finish this paperwork if he had any hope of making it to the game tomorrow.

“Well, Jack? Do you really plan to take this sitting down?” She snapped, annoyed by his indifference.

“I’m not sure what has offended you this time, Miss Fisher, but I'm rather busy at the moment, so if you don't mind...”

He kept his head bent over his desk in a vain hope she might take the hint and leave him to it. It wasn’t every day Abbotsford played an important match when he had off from work.

“I’m not the one offended!” She went on, clearly undeterred. “Well, not too much anyway. Although it is rather insulting when it’s insinuated that my successes are entirely dependent on your indulgence. An indulgence apparently granted for the basest of reasons. But, I expect that kind of thinking from someone as vulgar as Grossmith. I had hoped intelligent people would be more reasonable.” She stopped her pacing and leaned forward, palms flat on the desktop, her intensely blue eyes bright and blazing.

 _Grossmith? Ah, hell_. He’d only been half listening to her but that name had brought him to attention. He knew there was talk among the men, much of it fueled by that pimple of a man. What had she heard?

Perhaps he should have addressed this with her before now, but truth be told, he preferred not to give it the time of day. He’d long since stopped caring what others thought of him. He’d always believed she was of the same mind. That being the case, ignoring it all had seemed the best policy.

 _That was only partly true,_ he admitted to himself. He never brought it up because to bring up the rumours might lead to an admission that there was some basis for them. He’d done very little to discourage her teasing and in fact had actively encouraged it in his quiet way. Standing a little too close. Gazing a little too long. It was just a bit of fun and flirtation. She made him feel alive and desirable but perhaps he enjoyed it more than he should. It was rather unprofessional. Still, this was neither the time nor place for this conversation.

“Miss Fisher, I—”

“I won’t stand idly by and watch them take this from you, Jack! Not if I can help it.”

He clapped his mouth shut, the sentence he’d begun hanging unfinished in the air.

_Who are ‘they’ and what have they taken?_

He’d thought this was about the gossip. Now he was thoroughly lost and confused. An increasingly common feeling in her presence.

“Miss Fisher,” he sighed, leaning back and tossing his pen onto the desktop in defeat. “I seem to be at a disadvantage here. I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“The promotion, Jack! Why didn’t you tell me?” She leaned forward and laid her accusing eyes on him.

_The promotion?_

It had never occurred to him to mention it to her. Should it have? He’d always discussed such things with Rosie but Rosie was his wife. Or rather, she had been, when they’d had those discussions, but why on earth would Miss Fisher expect to be consulted?

Miss Fisher, who was his—what? How was he planning to finish that thought?

Colleague? Of a sort.

Friend? Yes, increasingly so. Flirting aside, it surprised him to realize how much a friend he now considered her, but apart from the aforementioned former wife, it wasn’t his habit to consult others when making decisions about his life. Not even good friends.

“I didn’t tell you because it doesn’t affect you,” he answered, simply.

“Doesn’t affect me? Of course it does!”

“I fail to see how.”

Did she imagine an elevated position for him would mean better access for her? Well, this wouldn’t be the first time his lack of ambition had let down the woman in his life but the thought of _her_ disappointment was oddly deflating. _And when did she become the woman in his life?_

“How could you imagine I wouldn’t be concerned? Do you think me that indifferent? It’s because of me that you’re having these difficulties!” She was speaking a mile a minute as he struggled to keep up. “It’s all fine for me, I suppose. Better, actually, if you simply stay where you are, but I hope you know I’ve never encouraged any of this idle gossip or manipulated the situation to keep you where I want you.”

“I never thought any such thing.”

His head spun. She seemed genuinely upset about something. His offer of promotion— _and how on earth had she learned of that!_ —seemed to figure prominently. Then there’d been her reference to the gossip...

"I’d never stand in your way,” she went on, in an astonishingly contrite tone, “and I’m prepared to do what I can to help put it right. Perhaps there is someone I might speak to on your behalf? Or, do you think that would make it worse? I’ll do whatever you need of me, including keeping away from the station if you ask. I can’t promise my investigations will never overlap with yours, I must do what is in the best interests of my clients, but I can try to mitigate the damage to your reputation, and I would do that if you think it would help. For you.”

Jack folded his hands as if in prayer, pressing them to his lips to hide his smile as her misunderstanding became clear to him.

“Miss Fisher, are you under the impression my lack of advancement has something to do with you and—how can I put this delicately—the perception of an improper relationship between us?”

“Of course! What did you think I was talking about?”

“Where did you get that idea?”

“Well, I’ve heard the talk, of course. I tossed it off as the spiteful chatter of small minds, but apparently I’ve underestimated the stiflingly puritan attitudes in this town. What consenting adults desire to engage in is really of no consequence to anyone else—not that we’re engaging—but even if we were—well, the point is, my aunt—”

“What has your aunt to do with anything?” He interjected in alarm.

“I had lunch with her today. A lunch at which I had to endure a lecture on how my actions and lack of propriety are inhibiting your career.”

“A lecture from _your_ aunt? Regarding _my_ career?”

“She’s rather fond of you, Jack. After your help with the Marigold Brown matter and with Janey,” she said, her eyes softening as she paused in her speech to convey a small, grateful smile. She stopped her pacing, sat down in the chair opposite his and continued in a calmer manner. “Aunt Prudence had been at a committee meeting of the Widows and Orphans Fund and overheard some women discussing you. They said you’d had an offer of promotion rescinded due to your association with _‘that meddlesome lady detective,’_ were I believe the words used. The implication was clear, Jack. You’re being dragged down by your work with me and I am sorry for that. I should’ve been more considerate of your position.”

Jack’s jaw clenched. The Widows and Orphans fund. It seemed Rosie had found a new excuse for his failure to advance. Apparently it was no longer a lack of ambition but weak morals that held him back. He was surprised she was laying the blame at Miss Fisher’s door rather than his own. Perhaps that was guilt over pushing for the divorce.

“You can let yourself off the hook, Miss Fisher. The offer for promotion wasn’t rescinded. I turned it down. I always turn it down.”

“I don’t understand, Jack.”

“Now you know how it feels,” he said with satisfaction. It was rare to have that shoe on her foot for a change.

“Why did you turn it down?”

“Once a year, or so, I’m asked if I wish to apply for advancement, which I am generally assured of earning, but to accept would mean more desk work, more paperwork. I’m happy where I am.”

He met her eyes. He _was_ happy. Happier than he’d been in a long time and her part in it wasn’t lost on him. In her he had found a welcome sounding board, a worthy opponent and at times a co-conspirator. He’d never worked with such an equal partner before. His job had always been challenging but now it was often also enjoyable. Because of her.

“So, you didn’t want the promotion?”

“I did not.”

“And you’re not just saying that to put me at ease?”

“There’s nothing for you to be uneasy about.”

She sat back in the chair, folding her arms across her chest, one eyebrow quirked up in a perfect arc.

“You’re aware of the rumours?” She asked.

“Foul whisperings are abroad,” he said with mock dramatics.

“You’re not bothered?”

“Am I bothered that people suspect I’m involved in a torrid affair with a beautiful woman? I rather think it helps my reputation, in some manner, though I’m not sure what it says for yours,” he smirked.

As he spoke, he pulled a bottle of whisky from his drawer. The good stuff he usually kept for himself. With a nod of his head in that direction, she rose and retrieved two glasses from atop the file cabinet.

“I’ve long stopped caring about my reputation, though I’m sure I’m the envy of many, Jack,” she smiled slyly and settled elegantly back into the chair as he poured.

“You know, anyone that thinks I am being indulgent is mistaken,” he said. “I allow you into my investigations because it benefits me. My closure rate has never been so high.”

“It takes a big man to admit that but if you think you’re _‘allowing’_ me into investigations, you’re the one mistaken.”

He made a small tilt of his head in concession.

“I’m glad you’re staying put, Jack.”

“Don’t want to have to break in a new inspector, Miss Fisher?”

“There is that, but you’d be wasted behind a desk and I would sorely miss watching you in action.”

She leaned forward aggressively and their eyes locked together in that way they did, the way that lit a fire in his belly. He couldn’t look away.

Her lips curled into a small, slightly smug, smile. She raised her glass and he moved his to meet in the middle.

“To investigations, then, Miss Fisher,” he said.

“And innuendo, Jack.”

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The title and Jack's line come from Macbeth (or "The Scottish Play" if you happen to be reading this in a theater).


End file.
